


Dancing across multiple time signatures

by myoue



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dancing, Established Relationship, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Extreme Romance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 11:37:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14080071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myoue/pseuds/myoue
Summary: They are each other’s number one source of comfort whenever stressed.





	Dancing across multiple time signatures

**Author's Note:**

> mostly them comforting each other to extreme and dangerous levels and loving each other a lot :) winter is over and i have vowed to myself to be happy!!! as happy as i want yuuri and victor to be happy forever!!!!

They get through security in less than twenty and still have two hours and forty-five left to board.

While Yuuri is usually the type to arrive anxiously early to anything and everything, the ever patient Victor has always been the type to arrive fashionably late on purpose and on principle—that principle being that punctuality is the thief of time. And while for a good portion of his life that had been working out quite well for him, it turns out lately that being with Yuuri no longer ever feels like his time is being wasted.

“Of course, it was inevitable,” Yuuri says in utter dismay, staring dead-eyed at the screen of his phone with email alerts for flight updates that he’d taken the noble and sole responsibility of signing up for. “Again. They’ve delayed it _again_. They’re not sure how long this time. Why—de-icing? No. Weather interruptions. It’s got to be that.”

“Yuuri.”

“Oh, now it says here—’ _weather’_ —but they didn’t specify what kind of weather. Hot? Cold? Hurricane?”

“They don’t have hurricanes where we’re going,” Victor assures him.

“Not yet, anyway.”

This was an outcome that Victor could have predicted a mile from the airport.

Yuuri drops his finger down the screen. He’s like a gambling addict pulling on the lever of a slot machine. “I know,” he says, “I’m fine, actually, with inclement weather, since it’s not the weather I’m worried about. Weather will be how weather is. But the longer I wait… ah, I guess, it doesn’t seem to matter? When they give explanations of the cause or reassurances that everything is fine and will be fine and always is fine—it doesn’t matter at all, my heart can’t seem to calm down regardless, whenever anything, _anything_ at all, happens… Am I going to be okay? Will I eventually die horribly of stress like this?”

With even more intensity than before, Victor rubs his hand up and down Yuuri’s back, pulling him in closer like the less space there is between them the less room for doubt there is in Yuuri’s mind.

“They’re doing the best they can, okay? We’ll be patient,” Victor says. “We will. Look at us, being good and patient and extremely okay.”

They’ve stood up to stretch but Yuuri isn’t cooperating with hug reciprocation, and Victor can feel when the arms slung around his shoulders are only being used as a crutch for anxiety-induced internet browsing and email checking.

“Ah, I paid five dollars for another half hour of wifi,” Yuuri bemoans into Victor’s chest. “Why did I do that? If we’re here for the next six hours, I’ve got to choose between an overpriced dinner and a sane mind. I’m the worst kind of person. The airports target people like me.”

“Shhhhhhhh.” Victor wraps both his arms around Yuuri, making a point to breathe with his whole body, in and out, so Yuuri can imitate the motion and do what they can with the stale airport air around them.

He sways them both gently back and forth on the spot, to some inaudible lullaby, pressing kiss after kiss to the side of Yuuri’s head. He’s good at this. He prides himself on being a resting place for Yuuri.

“Tell me, what’s your net worth?” Victor says.

Yuuri’s silent, but it’s not because he’s thinking about what it is.

“What’s my net worth?”

He doesn’t move.

“What’s our combined net worth—”

“Okay, okay, I get it!”

“Right!” Victor cheers. “Time is money and we can afford it. Now come now, won’t you dance with me? It’ll be fun. Six hours will be over in no time.”

Yuuri lets out a sigh, one meant to challenge Victor in every way. “Oh, I don’t want us to be here for six hours…”

“We won’t be.”

He shakes his head. “And everybody’s already looking at us.”

“Nobody’s looking.”

“I can see them, Victor,” he starts to say but gets another insistent kiss pressed to the other side of his head, as if telling him to forget them, ignore them, until they disappear completely, or at least until Victor is able to complete a full round of Yuuri’s head, making an invisible crown of kisses all along his temple. “People are staring,” Yuuri whispers into Victor’s shoulder when he’s just about done. A woman ten seats away lifts the edge of her newspaper just a little higher over her nose, hiding a slight smile that Victor swears he saw.

“That’s because you’re talking about them,” he whispers back. “People are self-conscious.” They _do_ seem to be looking, but it _could_ be because the two of them are standing in front of the electronic board for flight information.

“And how could we forget you’re world famous,” Yuuri reminds him, reaching through Victor’s tight grip around him to inconspicuously lift the hood of Victor’s coat over his head, covering up the sides of his face. “You’re not taking enough steps to disguise yourself.”

Despite his attempt at being low-profile, Victor can’t help brightening at Yuuri’s fingers tingling along his cheekbone, closing his eyes in contentment when Yuuri sticks a hand through the hood to free Victor’s bangs to hang properly. That’s very important. He knows Victor puts a lot of care into the quality and presence of his bangs.

“And—they’re jealous of us,” Yuuri continues, cupping his palms to Victor’s cheeks inside the hood like it’s a last extra layer of protection. “We’re very attractive together.”

“All valid reasons.”

If Victor could have it his way, Yuuri’s lips would look more than just tempting—they’d be worshipped, as a reward of some sort, but also because Victor is undeniably aching.

He starts to lead them both around in a gradual circle, a little mindlessly, stepping side to side in their lovely sway, until Yuuri becomes slow and calmed himself.

“Keep close to me,” Victor implores, wanting to be greedier and greedier with his touch.

Soon, he can feel the softing, settling, of Yuuri’s body, heart rate slowing, his breathing evening out. Yuuri’s arms start to slack, falling back neatly around Victor’s neck, cheek against Victor’s shoulder.

He doesn’t want to say this works every time, but this works pretty much every time.

They’ll do this on the plane, too—blocking the aisle for people trying to get around them to the bathroom about once every couple of hours.

 _(_ “ _We’re seated apart, Victor, what do we do..._ ” _)_

 _(_ “ _I’ll see you in an hour for our next hug session, Yuuri!—Umm, excuse me, ma’am, sorry, you can go around us. Yes, we do need to do this, actually. Thank you for understanding._ ” _)_

And again they’ll continue being nuisances waiting for customs when they meet in the middle of the floor, leaving their luggage in two separate lines because Yuuri would insist that being apart for this one brief moment should surely make things faster. (It doesn’t.)

And outside just before they hail a taxi they’ll be absolutely hated because Victor will have been craving privacy and intimacy for a dozen hours, pulling in whining anticipation at Yuuri’s sleeve, but even the privacy of a taxi isn’t enough. The hotel is always so far away.

“They’ve all gone to sleep,” Victor mentions quietly after some minutes, with quick reference to an indeed sleeping man and his two children on either side of him, who had all been staring quite intently earlier, in some chairs with luggage propped up next to their feet. “We’ve enchanted them. Now’s our chance.”

“Chance? For…?” Yuuri mutters, nearly just as sleepily, against him.

“To do something scandalous.”

Victor trails long and slow and sensually up Yuuri’s back until he can prop up one of Yuuri’s elbows outwards with his own, hand flat around Yuuri’s shoulder blades, outstretching their other hands from their bodies, waltz-like. He becomes a graceful curve, but takes the initiative in letting Yuuri fall against him, being the hanger to Yuuri’s coat.

“...Wha—”

And then with careful, deliberate motion, he steps to the side, lets Yuuri follow him, then steps back, in a triangular movement. And it takes Yuuri the entire time Victor’s setting this up and going through at least two haphazard rotations, still more established than the lazy back-and-forth they were doing before, to realize Victor wasn’t joking earlier about wanting to dance.

“This is…”

“Practice,” Victor finishes for him. “I’m not one for having my time _totally_ wasted, you know?”

“You’re a little embarrassing.” Yuuri laughs, his lips immediately pressing together so as not to be too loud, but in still an exuberant enough smile that his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“An embarrassingly good dancer.” Victor grins. “Do I put the dance in ice dance?”

“I should hope you do.”

With his outstretched hand, Yuuri rubs the pads of his fingers against the inner side of Victor’s palms, in a solemn swear that he would never be doing this if Victor hadn’t the duplicity of making him. His other hand, from where his wrist is gracefully perched on Victor’s shoulder, tiptoes its way around Victor’s neck to hold him closer, more possessively.

He hooks one of his ankles around Victor’s leg, in what would next be Victor dipping him back as the successive move in their routine, and it has Victor surprised at his dedication, gaze not cheating anywhere but faithfully into Yuuri’s eyes.

But while Victor does dip him swanlike a few inches, Yuuri doesn’t know if he’ll be committed enough to perform the next synchronized twizzles in the middle of an exhausted evening airport, despite how hard they’ve been ignoring having an audience. Also, the carpets don’t make for very smooth gliding.

“You seduce me so,” Victor tells him huskily into the perked shell of his ear when he doesn’t let either of them up right away; when Yuuri cranes his neck just a little too erotically to be fair.

“ _Ha_ , you’ve taught me well.”

While he hangs off Victor’s neck, Victor sighs very softly, a maybe not-so-innocent whine escaping him.

They stand back up properly, but Victor remains incongruously still and quiet. One of his arms starts to drift down and then back upwards, floating along the terrain of Yuuri’s sweater underneath the edges of his waist-length coat, until they find a place to settle on the small of his back between fabrics. “Ah...”

He hugs Yuuri to him, pushing the length of the coat up just a bit, fingers becoming restless and exploring. He shifts weight on each foot unsteadily.

“...Warm,” Victor mumbles. “Feels good.”

“Wait, wait a second, you seriously intend to give them more of a show?” Yuuri cries under his breath.

“Hmm, not here. Maybe the bathroom.”

“Y…! You won’t even be in the mood by the time we lug all our stuff all the way there!”

“I said we were going to be patient, didn’t I?”

“That’s not the point…”

“We’ll keep each other in the mood along the way,” Victor says.

“I doubt it...!”

The carpet and grey felt lining every surface of the floor and the walls and the dividers mean it’s an eerie quiet in this corner—all the way at the very end of the airport. It’s a hugely open space yet sound doesn’t travel far, feeling trapped and stewed between just the two of them, like they’re sharing a secret that none of the rest of the airport can know. But the patrons that share their gates, however determined to feign sleep, still get a little too much insight into their shenanigans.

“We’ll miss our flight,” Yuuri gasps when Victor’s lips get in just a little too close and his hands get a little too handsy. He has to pinch the back of the hood still propped up on Victor’s head in warning.

“We have six hours,” Victor breathes.

“Weather is fast-moving.”

“So am I.”

He’s truly unbelievable and always has a way of putting Yuuri dangerously at ease. “But I like taking my time…” Yuuri says, ironically lower and more vice-like than all of the excuses he’s brought up so far.

And it’s that final admission, so incredibly adorably honest, that has Victor letting out a conceding laugh, heated forehead falling to Yuuri’s shoulder this time. “Damn it. I did this to myself, didn’t I?”

“You sure did.”

Maybe it’s a part of his nature to be accommodating, but Yuuri is all shades of conflicted by the time he checks his phone again for more flight notifications, in a single moment of weakness.

Technically, they’ll have gained a day when they cross the International Date Line, so they have time, in some warped sense.

But that’s just what Yuuri tells himself.

Mostly, their feelings are never typically all that one-sided, and it’s starting to become way too often that he completely damns restraint to let Victor do whatever he wants.

-

Victor and Yuuri and Mr. and Mrs. Katsuki sit face to face on either side of an elegant white-tableclothed dining table lined with plates of Japanese delicacies that Victor hasn’t been able to put any name to since they were put down. They travel in broad daylight somewhere in and around the Kyushu region aboard a fanciful ferry that they have nearly all to themselves.

It’s the ideal weather and the ideal circumstances. But forgive him, please, for Victor is starting to feel the nerves pile on.

“Victor-chan,” greets Mrs. Katsuki with a nod and clasped hands in front of her.

“Vicchan,” says Mr. Katsuki beside her.

“That’s not really a formal title… is it?” Victor leans into Yuuri a bit, bumping shoulders.

“...Err,” Yuuri says.

They’re glad to be here, that’s what both of Yuuri’s parents say. And they’re glad he’s here—he, as in Yuuri’s new interest—as if they’re implying Victor had to take time out of his busy schedule to be here when it’s really quite the opposite. He’d made so much time to be available for a date that would possibly be open for all four of them that, to be perfectly honest, _new_ is something he and Yuuri have long since abandoned concerning their relationship.

The Katsukis are simply experts at working hard and being successful that they only come together after literal years to inform each other of their achievements, even though it’s like no time at all has passed, and then off they go again making a name for themselves.

“We’ve wanted to congratulate you two personally for your silver at the Olympics in ice dance!” says Mrs. Katsuki excitedly. “From singles to pair to this. The two of you are just amazing. We showed your program to all our regulars. A lot of them were shocked at how smooth and graceful you two were!”

“Some other things they said about your chemistry, we can’t repeat during daylight,” Mr. Katsuki mentions.

“I think their eyes haven’t adjusted to the new eighty-inch screen yet,” Yuuri comments, still self-deprecating through and through but at least having become more confident about it over the years. “A lot of them are still used to the fat TVs with fuzz and slower frame rate,” he tells Victor.

“Wow, eighty inches,” Victor says dizzyingly. “Is that what’s in the main room now?”

“They wouldn’t let me buy it for them. They used solely the profits from the resort.”

He’s finding it hard to picture in his mind what it would even look like now. It’s actually getting rather hard to think about anything concretely, feeling scrutinized even though he’s been friendly with Yuuri’s parents for a long time. Maybe that’s part of why, though.

And apparently, profits for the inn would only grow from there because it wouldn’t be that long before Yuutopia Katsuki became known as one of the top rated and highly regarded hot springs in Japan, only beat by the long famous Yunokawa Onsen in Hakodate. But, as one of their own regulars put it, that’s only because they have the complement of a snowy atmosphere and red-faced macaque monkeys up there so it’s almost an unfair comparison.

The Katsukis are just happy they can be that far-traveled dose of luxury in humble southern Japan.

“So, so, you probably already know…” Yuuri starts, clearing his throat like it helps punctuate what he’s next about to say. “But, Victor and I, we’re… well… together now. Not just in ice dance or pair skating. We’re, ahm, we very much like each other.” He takes hold of Victor’s hand underneath the table, squeezing it, in a gesture of conviction even if it’s just known to the two of them.

Victor blinks a lot, feeling somewhat cloudy and lightheaded. His heart starts to race.

“I think there’s nothing better than finding the person whom you’re meant to be with,” Yuuri says. “He loves me for who I am, he’s always patient and kind when I’m difficult, and he makes it easier to breathe, just by doing nothing, just by being near. It’s never been easier than when it’s with him. And, I’m so grateful for everything I’ve been given, for your acceptance of my love of skating, for your support and confidence in sending me off to foreign countries, and without any of it I never would’ve been able to be this happy—”

Victor’s head falls with a sudden drop, having blacked out for a second. But he catches himself before he hits any of the plates of food, gripping onto the edge of the table, having to let go of Yuuri’s hand to do it.

“I’m-I’m sorry,” he wheezes, confused and feeling blank but also overcome by an onslaught of hot and feverish. He stands from the table, spinning, vision instantly blurring. He hears himself like an out of body experience, slurring, “—’ll be right back.”

“Victor?” Yuuri calls, getting up after him.

As he tries to hobble out of the hall by himself, he vaguely catches Yuuri saying to his parents that they can start eating without them. And then Victor’s head is put safe against a shoulder, his fingers grasping for whatever’s nearest.

When he comes to, or at least once he begins registering things around him in real time again, the first thing he notices is an arm around his back.

His entire body feels sweaty but also chilly, and his butt hurts. He must have collapsed onto the floor of the boat somewhere outside where the wind and the sea spray whips against his skin, refreshing even though it also makes him shiver, as he sits with his head between his knees. He can feel every single pendulum sway of the boat, unstable and bothering.

“I don’t feel well,” Victor says thinly, forcing his eyes closed when his throat starts to weigh so heavily he’s not sure if he’s going to have to get up again to go over the edge. He doesn’t know if he’d been breathing at all for the last minute and a half.

“ _Victor_.” Yuuri squeezes his knee in a desperate worry, his other hand rubbing vigorously up and down his back. His voice sounds so near. He’s sitting on the floor of the ferry with him. “You never told me you get seasick…”

Victor lets out a breath meant to be an attempt at a laugh at such a thing but it just ends up being a severely controlled effort to keep everything inside him inside of him. “I-I sort of forgot that I did until now…”

He can’t even remember the last time he was on a boat.

“Breathe,” Yuuri tells him, brushing the sticky bangs off his forehead. The backs of his fingers are cold, and it feels good. “Deep breaths in through your mouth and out through your nose.”

Victor does as he says, focusing on oxygen intake and calming his heart rate like if he believes it in his head then it’ll happen in his body. It isn’t unlike the breathing techniques they’re both told repetitively during their practices, but he finds being reminded of it now really helps.

“You’ll be okay. Don’t worry,” Yuuri says with an encouraging brush of his hand through Victor’s hair. His touch is soft and gentle and angelic. “I’ll get you some water, okay?”

Victor mumbles in affirmation.

It’s for less than a minute that he has to fend for himself while waiting for Yuuri to return, but it’s more than enough time to agonize over the fact that he’s definitely ruined this thing with Yuuri’s parents, after they all finally made time to be here together at the same time. _God_. There were an infinite number of outcomes for how this would go—why does it have to turn out like this?

It’s hard to think when he tries to sit as still as he can, closing his eyes, but still finds himself spinning erratically. With all of his remaining energy, he suppresses the urge to fall over and lie down so he’s not completely on the floor for Yuuri to come back to and possibly think he just keeled over and died.

“Drink, if you can,” Yuuri says on his return, putting Victor’s fingers around a glass. “But if you have to, you can throw up in this. I brought a bin. And don’t worry about my parents. They just want you to feel better. If we knew you got ill on boats, we wouldn’t have done something like this. I mean, I guess we’re sea people since we were all born next to water but you’re probably not used to it being more inland.”

“...hm...”

Victor sips carefully.

The only source of warmth is Yuuri’s hand back to rubbing against his leg, and despite the uncomfortable fever that runs through his body, he craves the comfort Yuuri brings him. He doesn’t want to be left alone.

He reaches for Yuuri’s hand into his own, calmed already just by being able to hold their palms together like this, bringing them both against his head in a prayer that this doesn’t get worse.

“Sorry for this,” Victor croaks. “You were in the middle of... such a beautiful speech earlier... and I really wanted to hear the rest of it…” He trails off in hopes that Yuuri might find the inspiration to continue where he left off. It would be a good distraction.

“You know,” Yuuri says curiously, “I was just thinking, actually, you can spin and do death spirals on ice but you get sick on water? Isn’t that a little funny?”

“Oh… sure...”

“And you’re fine on planes but not boats? Your body has a weird tolerance for certain dangerous things and not others. Are you okay on merry-go-rounds? We should try.”

“—Thanks, Yuuri.”

It’s this uncontrollable seesawing back and forth that’s what’s awful, like they’re on the edge of tipping over each side at any moment, and it’s like that endlessly… Frankly, airplane turbulence isn’t even this bad.

Victor finishes the glass of water, and at some point it’s replaced by a cup of hot tea brought over by Mr. Katsuki along with well wishes and a promise to save some food for them once they feel well enough to come back inside. But other than that, they’re left alone again, and Victor is grateful for the consideration and privacy of feeling ill with just Yuuri beside him.

“Are you okay like this?” Yuuri says, delicate.

“Yeah.”

They can’t see much in front of them from where they’re sat, the railing being just a solid block of white, but maybe it’s a good thing they can’t see the water.

On the other hand, the sky is a wonderful blue, and Victor is able to lift his head up from his knees to lay against Yuuri’s shoulder when the threat of immediate nausea starts to pass, their backs against the boat, breathing deeply and consistently, and sipping occasionally at the warm ginger tea that Yuuri holds onto for him.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Yuuri starts to say, wind lapping at their hair and clothes. He runs a thumb against Victor’s palm, leaning so they’re both propped against each other.

Victor’s listening.

“I know we spent the majority of our careers in singles, and it’s how we started, and we wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for that, and becoming partners for pair skating was like consummation of everything we’d worked for up until that point. But ice dance… I didn’t think I would fall in love with it this much. Some people dedicate their whole lives to it and we’re just trying it for the first time, and for that I’ll always have the highest respect for them. Maybe it’s because we aren’t allowed to jump or do complicated lifts above the head, but it feels good to be focused on just you the whole time. I can’t help thinking that we weren’t born to do this and we’re totally out of our element, but, god, aren’t we dazzling anyway?”

Hearing this now after a season of competition and a year of harsh training doesn’t sound like much of a secret, Victor thinks, but coming from Yuuri, he’s convinced it’s something he was holding dearly within him all this time.

“I think so, too.”

“And I’ve never had so much fun performing… every time, I would think, _ah, I don’t want it to end_. It’s just really incredible, putting everything into the steps and the music. And, I’m really grateful I got to do it with you. I feel so blessed and happy, and even if this is our last season before retirement… it doesn’t feel like anything is really ending.”

Victor turns his head a bit, snakes his arms around Yuuri’s waist, and places a firm kiss into Yuuri’s shoulder. It’s awful—how heart-rending yet how uplifting Yuuri can make him feel at the same time.

Of course, Victor will miss it, too—all of the late night practices, the never being more than two arms length away from each other, the prying dry of every single technical point because they can, but never sacrificing a minutiae in artistry.

The falling down. The falling in iridescent love.

It’s tough work but the burn is always a sweet heat, and it’s all worth it. He never wants it to end, either.

“I’m feeling a little better now,” Victor says.

“That’s good.”

With a resolute inhale, he attempts to lift himself from the floor, using the aid of Yuuri’s hand to make sure he’s steady. It’s the first time he’s stood up in half an hour or so, so there’s some progress there.

The rushing air against his face makes it so it’s almost effortless to breathe.

He has to admit, he wishes this sickness wasn’t such a distraction when the view out here is gorgeous. Blue on blue on everlasting blue. Retirement with a couple of Hawaiian shirts and some sunglasses is, perhaps, not quite their established aesthetic, but it feels so warm.

From the shade of the overhang, he can see Yuuri staring lazily up at him, head cocked to the side in some sort of wonderment, like he’s looking up at a million rays of sunshine, even though the sun is on the other side.

“Are you just going to stand there looking pretty?”

And Victor’s inability to help blushing is chronic, every time he hears Yuuri calling him some version of unfairly pretty. “Yes?” he says with legitimate intent to keep doing it. “Would you like that?”

“I wouldn’t mind it.”

Oh, he’s really too much.

Victor extends his hand towards Yuuri, the same way he does at the start of every single one of their programs when the first set of twinkling piano notes echo across the stadium.

“As much as I’d love to stand here by myself…” Victor smiles but it’s not for any audience besides Yuuri, “Would you care to have this dance instead?”

It’s not on purpose—well, maybe it is. He just can’t help turning their whole life into a dance across multiple time signatures, where nothing and no one else matters except for their own feelings for each other.

And Yuuri’s eyes widen in a disbelief that Victor can be so _like this_ even after nearly passing out on the deck of a ferry. Still, he isn’t able to help his laughter. He leaves Victor hanging for only a moment in order to cover his face, his own grin peeking out from beneath his fingers. “ _Now?_ You’re really not well.”

“I’m really not,” he admits.

But it doesn’t stop him. Yuuri takes his hand anyway and Victor beams, using all his strength to pull him up.

Except he only gets halfway when the boat suddenly rocks particularly hard, or maybe Victor simply loses his balance, and, with an unbecoming yelp primarily from Victor, they both go tumbling back down again.

Shit. Now his knees hurt.

“S-Sorry!!! Are you okay, Yuuri!?”

“Ow… Yeah, I’m fine. Are you…?”

“I’m fine…”

“Maybe you should be taking it easy?” Yuuri caresses a palm to Victor’s cheek when neither of them have the will to do anything but remain on the deck floor. He’s gotten used to rubbing at the bruises that form all too easily along Victor’s porcelain skin.

The first time Yuuri had ever seen him fall on ice, Victor thinks it would be too much to take—for himself, more than anything. He knows he’s looked up to, and wants to remain that way. Art is meant to withstand the test of time. He won’t allow himself to destroy Yuuri’s sparkling eyes and all of the hopes and dreams placed upon him. He remembers himself staring straight into the ice, feeling his heart sinking, his palms stinging bloody because he hadn’t thought to wear gloves.

But in that difficult moment, he only hears a very small gasp and a whisper that happens across the Ice Castle Hasetsu rink in the form and shape of “ _I can’t believe it—a_ _fallen angel...?_ ”

And even if the sky were to open up and if heaven would await him now, he makes sure that the last thing he ever does on Earth is cushion the back of Yuuri’s head with his arm on their way down. An angel is still an angel, no matter if he’s fallen. That’s what Yuuri taught him.

“Mm… yeah… I got a little eager, I’ll admit.” Victor whines unhappily, but sinks down a little closer. “I’m just not used to feeling so helpless, and, well, you may not think so but you have such a way with words when you talk sentimental to me. I get so weak in the knees, hehe...”

“Oh, my dears…!”

The voice of Mrs. Katsuki comes wafting from the doorway, along with Mr. Katsuki shuffling out from behind her only to stop with the same reaction. She’s holding two wrapped bowls, presumably of soup, while her husband carries another hefty bowl of fluffy white rice poking out the top.

“Uh,” Victor responds.

Unfortunately, he’s still in the middle of straddling their son who’s lying haplessly across the floor, arm still around the back of Yuuri’s neck, with Victor’s lips in the middle of a casual descent for a kiss. There might also be a somewhat tasteless hand spread across the right pectoral muscle of Yuuri’s chest.

They don’t seem particularly upset, the Katsukis—both smiling politely, Mr. Katsuki slightly more so—but it’s still awkward nonetheless. They insist the two of them must be hungry, but don’t mind them, they don’t want to disturb the recovery process too much, and they’re going to leave the dishes on the side for them, is that okay?

Victor turns to Yuuri in hopes that he’ll be able to come up with something to remedy the situation because his head is already starting to spin again, probably worse now than before.

And Yuuri, flat on his back, arms splayed, has never really been good with words under high pressure situations, offering up a very smooth and infinitely helpful, “Ahhhhh... ummmmmm… yeah?”

He has no regrets—Victor thinks he’s thus far lived a long, lovely, and happy life. And with the spring sun shining on them and specks of salt spray in the air, his last wish might just be to die like this—still rather touch starved, but unashamedly comfortable in the arms of his lover.

-

“How long are we going to be in Paris for?”

That’s a very legitimate question that Yuuri asks, albeit a little late seeing as they’ve been out of Paris’s Gare du Nord terminal for a good few hours now, having walked along the elaborate city street lights in what Victor would best describe as a luxurious fantasy dream sequence. He hadn’t planned for a specific check-out date, but since it’s their first free season, he’s open to whim.

He turns in his seat to straighten the bow tie of Yuuri’s deep black tuxedo, more for emphasis than any actual fixing—because Yuuri is perfect already without either his help or the tux’s. There’s no such thing as splurging after a certain point, he tells Yuuri. And then he picks back up his champagne flute, sipping, and looking out over the red and golden-lit auditorium from their front galerie box hovering over the left side.

“My parents are here,” Victor remarks off-handedly.

“Wha… Wait—what!? What do you mean?”

“By chance,” Victor says with a blow up of his hair, and then when his bangs settle back against his face he doesn’t move whatsoever. “They said they happened to be in the area.”

“Ehhh? That sounds… pretty coincidental?”

“They also have the ability to get from Saint Petersburg to Paris in under two hours.” Victor downs his drink like it’s something harder than a blushed rose cocktail. “And we’ve been here for about five. I don’t know, what do you think, Yuuri? Personally, I believe there isn’t much to it.”

“If you say so… Wait—did you mean they’re here as in Paris, or here as in here-here?”

“Here as in Paris.”

And then Victor points out over the veranda with none of the elegance that he prides himself on, towards the first balcony directly in the centre of the auditorium.

“Also, here as in there.”

“Whaaaaaaat!?”

“Oh, Yuuri, you’re a delight.”

“I’m shocked. What are your parents doing here? I thought they never... or, I never thought they—”

“To make amends, possibly. To congratulate us. Maybe they want to welcome you warmly into the family? Who knows? I sure don’t.”

It’s not as if he didn’t anticipate something like this happening once he was back in Europe. And it doesn’t really matter where in Europe—the Nikiforovs consider the whole continent their home, just with various landmarks, irrespective of borders. They have eyes everywhere.

Colonisers, Victor had called them once when they were being particularly filthy with their brand.

He doesn’t quite go as long as Yuuri does without seeing his parents, but the utter lack of interest in showing his face is self-imposed rather than circumstantial.

“So, to answer your question, we’ll be out of Paris after this show.” Victor is gleeful. “We can slip out during intermission. Catch the midnight train to somewhere. They probably have trains earlier than that but I just really wanted to say midnight train.”

“But-But, we paid so much for these seats...”

“Yuuri, how much are we worth—”

“Okay, okay.”

“I promise to make it up to you,” Victor says. “I promise.”

So, that’s exactly what they end up doing. The initial hour and a half performance was quite literally a showstopper because Victor is finishing the rest of his drink while in his seat and while getting up from his seat and while leaving his seat, and Yuuri tells the couple behind them that they can have a front row view for the rest of the show.

Parisians tend to go out of town during the month of August, so the streets have a quiet glow, all of the darkened shops being on holiday, following their footsteps down cobblestoned sidewalks with an air of exclusivity.

Yuuri tells Victor the opera was beautiful, even though he couldn’t understand much, and wishes they could’ve stayed for the whole thing. Victor is quiet and expressionless.

“Ah, but I’m still frustrated on your behalf,” Yuuri seethes through his teeth, walking hand in hand with Victor, loose but still touching, because it’s really too warm. “And not just because they cut our show short. I don’t think it’s fair of them at all to corner you like this, without even consulting you first. I mean, they’re your parents and all, they should have your best interests at heart, but they know you’re not going to up and leave the city once you know they’re here, no matter how much you want to though, and they’re taking advantage of that. And then following us like that? Did you tell them we were there?”

“No.”

“So, how could they have—?”

“Yuuri, I want to take your last name.”

They’re walking side by side but Yuuri skips his next step, landing on one heavy foot, and stopping to turn to Victor with an obscene look on his face. “W-What?!? What’s this out of nowhere? I’m… um, not really following. I don’t think any of this is good for my heart...”

Victor stops, too, to look back behind at Yuuri, frowning but only because he’s extremely serious about this. “I want to take your last name. It’s exactly as it sounds.”

“And—what is it supposed to sound like?”

“Like…” Victor faces him once more to affix the bow tie on Yuuri’s throat one last time, settling his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders and squeezing, clutching him from his collar to his neck to holding his cheeks in his palms. “Like how I want to marry you and we’ll run away together and leave everything behind. Your parents approve, that’s more than enough for me. I really think we could work. Things’ll just fall into place. Hm? How about it?” He’s a little buzzed right now but that’s not the point.

Yuuri’s cheeks glow pink, puffing up in Victor’s hands in a pout like he was trying to be serious about this. He brings his hands up to cover Victor’s, rubbing at the band that’s already on Victor’s finger and feeling very much succumbed with it all. “Why are you so cool?”

“Am I?”

“I'm distraught.”

“Are you now?”

“Victor, you're terrible to me!”

He says that, but, god, with that pouting face—it’s so unfair, he’s so cute, it’s a crime. Victor doesn’t know how to ever calm down, whether he wants to let Yuuri go to breathe or to squeeze him harder so he’s breathless, and it’s a recurring dilemma he wants to deal with for the rest of his life. He would do anything—kill, undergo torture, or otherwise subject himself to a million other sins if he so had to in for Yuuri. Is this what it means to do something in the name of love?

“We can meet up for lunch with your parents tomorrow,” Yuuri commits through his squished cheeks.

First, let Victor suffer on that roller coaster, or whatever it was, that Yuuri had suggested they try before, and has since had Victor living with the hopes that Yuuri would never remember it.

“No thanks,” Victor says. “This time, I refuse. Now how about that wedding…?”

“It’ll be okay.”

Victor shakes his head.

“No, it won’t. For me, maybe, it might be, they might only scratch the surface of being mildly condescending, but it’ll be impossible for them to cover up their complete narcissism and thinly veiled disappointment in me as a son that I’ll have to sit through and pretend like I’m having fun… honestly, that’s as far as I’ll let it get. I’ve learned my lesson over and over, and I’m tired.”

“Maybe this time they really do just want to congratulate us?”

“I love your faith in humanity, Yuuri, but it can only be applied to humans. How are you not completely traumatized from what they said to you last time? I know you can be strong when you want to be, but… I guess I’m just a little surprised.”

Yuuri shrugs. Perhaps he realizes how out of character it is, because he lets himself out of Victor’s hold to open up the buttons of his blazer and slide his hands back behind the folds, settling laced together along Victor’s waist. “When I saw how worked up you got, it sort of made me feel like I had to be the rational one.” He smiles a bit at the memories. “I think threatening them was a bit much, though.”

And Victor’s arms fall back around Yuuri’s shoulders, like a gentle fog settling over a city. “They can use a joke every once in a while.”

I’ll have you both assassinated—were Victor’s exact words accompanied by a blank sheeted expression.

“...I did apologize,” Victor mutters.

After all, he knows very well his parents happened to make their way to the Palais Garnier of their own volition, because on instinct that’s what they do, without any conscious idea that Victor would be there as well—and it sets bile in his throat. His drink is fruity so he wouldn’t have to taste it in his own mouth. When he and Yuuri had arrived there, he’d scanned the crowd and searched for his parents’ faces without even thinking, so maybe he’s just as bad as them after all.

They stayed for the first half so Yuuri could enjoy his first high society opera, but he’d been paying more attention to Victor than the performance the whole time. Victor had held onto his hand and leaned over to mouth the French words translated into English for him, and Yuuri had pursed his lips and stroked his palm back and told him that’s not what he was concerned about.

Yuuri has this way of being completely honest with his feelings yet still staying reasonable when it comes to matters outside of himself. And maybe it’s not so much reasonableness as it is his instinct to be diplomatic and kind, including the inability to put anyone related to Victor in a bad light.

But here and now, he tries to make Victor forget all about his parents, putting aside reasonableness and diplomacy to just be a tease.

He slouches against Victor under the waning silver moonlight and the old-style street lamps, arms tightening around Victor’s waist. He closes his eyes and he parts his mouth in a wanton plea, pressing lightly to Victor’s chin, and then tipping up onto his toes.

“Dance with me,” Yuuri whispers against his lips, soft enough in consideration for Victor's overdriven heart. “Won’t you?”

He doesn’t offer Victor any choice in the matter, not that Victor would ever think of refusing. Not ever. Not when Yuuri does things like this on purpose, subverting his expectations, leaving him forever hooked and pining and devastating for Yuuri. Victor breaks into an embarrassing grin, formally accepting such an invitation from the love of his life, with perfume spray and a lipstick-sealed RSVP if they were Victorian.

They don’t twirl or waltz dramatically or try to mimic their ice dance in the middle of the deserted street, even though Victor thinks it would’ve been perfect with their clean-pressed tuxedos. They don't need to. Tonight is already a strange night with emotions running high.

He lets Yuuri direct their path down the street with arms softly around each other and no room between them, to their usual soundless instrumental, except Victor finds he’s humming this time, quietly, not to any distinct tune.

They sway and sway, and his heart swells with his arms around Yuuri's shoulders, placing their foreheads together. He really can't help feeling it. They're so romantic. 

“I don’t want you to be sad,” Yuuri tells him after a bit of egregiously slow dancing, head sticking to the side of Victor’s face, hands warm around the small of his back. “You can take my name. You can take whatever you want from me.”

“I don’t know if I could possibly ask for more,” Victor responds.

“Then why do you look at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like… I don’t know…” Yuuri trails off, looking perturbed before inhaling and then exhaling, “But it feels like I’ll end up giving everything to you because of it.”

And Victor kisses him right there, having been sick with longing to do it for so, so long. His shoulders rise as he breathes Yuuri in, incapable of being gentlemanly about this, and Yuuri’s hands sparkle and jump up his back to hold him better.

Victor kisses and kisses him, unrelenting, and Yuuri is as wildly insistent back, pressing into him so hard it doesn’t feel possible to get any closer. He feels the want in Yuuri's lips on him, the rise of his hands until they're holding his face in place, and Victor runs out of breath for how much he lets Yuuri steal from him.

It’s not the look he’s been apparently giving Yuuri this whole time that has him wondering—not when Yuuri looks at him so casually, so decently, like Victor could do anything and be anything and Yuuri will still look at him the same way.

It’s that Victor’s never felt so—himself. No matter the things he’s done in his life or the people he’s had to deal with or the way he falls into behaving sometimes, he feels so taken care of and comforted by the fact that Yuuri will always be there for him. And he—no matter what—will always be there for Yuuri, too.

They meet up with Victor’s parents the next day for lunch, and Victor doesn’t let Yuuri go more than two inches from his arm.

They choose to speak entirely in Russian, largely because Victor had the mind to threaten them off the bat this time, unbeknownst to Yuuri, that if they spoke badly about either of them then it would be the last time they ever saw their only son again.

It lasts a tense one hour and Yuuri’s eyes dart back and forth across Victor’s face when they’re alone and outside again, asking how it went, if everything’s okay, commenting how statue-like and all around intimidating his parents looked that it was hard to discern what they were feeling the whole time.

His mother is a beauty and his father could slice food on his jawline. Yuuri can admit he has a weakness for beautiful people, no matter what they end up saying about him. They’d look at him once and Yuuri wouldn’t be able to hold their gaze for long before an involuntary shiver runs up his spine and he consequently shifts closer to Victor.

Still, Victor looks rather puzzled from all of it than anything, looking to Yuuri and squeezing his hand like they both just went through an insane ordeal yet managed to survive somehow by the skin of their teeth.

“They said,” Victor tells him, “that we looked happy together. Essentially.”

And Yuuri looks strangely at him too, answering with a remarkable, “Huh.”

“Yeah.”

Victor has no idea if there were eyewitnesses planted in the streets where they’d walked or if the hotel room was bugged last night when he and Yuuri made passionate love to each other, but it feels like there was a sudden change of heart, a shifting in the cosmos.

But even if he’s imagining it all, he decides it’s something to be happy about.

He’ll hug Yuuri a little tighter, and Yuuri will kiss him a little sweeter. This is the city of love, and they have plans to be married soon.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry for making victor's parents like this, i'm sure they are fine people in canon!
> 
> also "punctuality is the thief of time" is from oscar wilde's the picture of dorian gray, i do not take credit for this great line.


End file.
